


pinpricks in his lungs

by vintaged



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I think?, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, sad-ish stuff, this isn't even that adult, whattt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintaged/pseuds/vintaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur says he loves him, and Merlin is inclined to believe him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pinpricks in his lungs

Arthur says he loves him, and Merlin is inclined to believe him.

Except the days when Arthur sends him away immediately after his chores are finished; when he casts barely a glance at Merlin, instead tosses another shirt to the ground or orders he clean the stables or fetch him a better sword. When he waves one ringed hand in the direction of the door, growls things like _Leave_ and _That will be all_ and _God dammit Merlin I can’t do this right now._

Merlin slinks out on those days; takes an armful of sweaty laundry with him as he goes, tries not to look back as the door shuts behind him.

He hates Arthur in those moments.

He hates Arthur even more because later (minutes, days, weeks) he’ll re-enter that damned room, and Arthur will be there; and he’ll curl fingers around Merlin’s wrist and push him back and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. And Merlin will melt like butter against the door as Arthur’s apology writes itself across his skin, faster and hotter until Merlin is burning with the taste of honey and mint against his tongue.

When Arthur murmurs he loves him then, Merlin believes him. He believes him with his entire flaming being and it _hurts._ Hurts more than anything, in this moment, when Merlin can feel everything down to the slight trembling of Arthur’s fingers against his face.

Not that it doesn’t hurt other times.

Times when Gwen sweeps in, all smiles and kindness and love just as total and consuming as Merlin’s. Times when she gently rests her hand on Merlin’s shoulder, whispers things like _Gaius needs you_ or _I think those boots have been polished enough_ or _Merlin would you mind checking on the dinner for me._

Merlin doesn’t slink out so much as run during these times. Sends a wide smile up at his Queen; because yes she is his queen and yes she is his friend and it hurts him more than it should to let her continue like this. Scrambles to his feet without looking at Arthur and tries to nonchalantly reach the door without tripping, and is careful not to let it slam behind him; waits until he’s turned the corner before he slumps against the wall and runs tired fingers through his hair.

It hurts a lot, then, little pinpricks of pain against his lungs. Enough that Merlin wonders, briefly, whether it’s even worth it in the first place.

The hunting trip he takes alone with Arthur only days later, the one that ends in gasps and hisses and Merlin whispering promises against the tender skin of Arthur’s throat, proves it is. That it must be.

When Arthur tells him he loves him then, curled up against Merlin’s side in the darkness of the forest and trailing fingers along his back, Merlin believes him. He believes him with a quiet burn in the pit of his stomach, and it hurts again.

It hurts enough that Merlin rolls over, takes Arthur’s face in his hands and just looks at him, drinks in sleepy features and a lazy smile and the murmur of _Idiot_ , and finds himself entirely at a loss for words.

Why Merlin believes him, he has no idea.

Arthur just sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. I was bored, and this was the result.:) Also I need to think up better titles.


End file.
